


The Naming of Cats

by rosenritter



Series: What's in a Name? [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley adopt a cat, Aziraphale used to be Raphael, Crowley Endures, Established Relationship, Farce, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Post-Canon, well Aziraphale adopts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-07 18:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19474870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosenritter/pseuds/rosenritter
Summary: In which a demon awakes from a nap that got out of control, an angel obtains a brick shithouse of a cat, and the powers of Heaven somehow manage to make an even sillier Raphael-related mistake than the last one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When you notice a cat in profound meditation,  
> The reason, I tell you, is always the same:  
> His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation  
> Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:  
> His ineffable effable  
> Effanineffable  
> Deep and inscrutable singular Name.  
> \- T.S. Eliot, "The Naming of Cats"

The first thing Crowley did when he woke up was grope over to Aziraphale's side of the bed in the half-awake hope of finding something pleasant to squeeze and/or spoon up against. When his hand found only cool sheets, he grumbled and turned over to face his night stand. 

It wasn't unusual for him to sleep longer than Aziraphale, who mostly tolerated the practice on Crowley's behalf the way Crowley himself tolerated Aziraphale's fondness for food. Especially in the winter, when some of his snakier tendencies roared to life. Or, rather, hissed. When a really nasty cold snap occurred, he'd either have to find a warm spot to snuggle up to (which had been a frankly trivial task since his relationship with Aziraphale had upgraded) or, in a worst case scenario, he'd enter brumation and conk out for a while.

He had felt it coming on for about a week before: more lethargy, more lounging in sunbeams, more draping himself inelegantly over Aziraphale, more naps in general. He had warned Aziraphale that he'd probably be asleep for a few days. The angel had smiled at him beatifically, said he understood and that he'd be there when Crowley woke up, and gave him a long, lingering kiss to send him off to sleep. His dreams had been quite pleasant as a result.

He grabbed his phone, not noticing the small layer of dust that had settled over its pristine screen. Through half-lidded eyes, he saw that it was now February 15th. He had been asleep for 34 days.

"Shit," he said, almost impressed. It had been decades since he slept that long. Then, realizing that 34 days was significantly more than 'a couple' and that this meant Aziraphale had been alone for all that time, he bolted straight up in bed. "Shit, shit, _shit!_ "

As he nearly fell out of bed in his panic, his hand fell on a piece of paper that had been left on Aziraphale's side of the bed. He straightened out the slightly wrinkled page and saw the angel's perfect calligraphy:

_Good morning/afternoon/evening (substitute as needed), dearest!_

_I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up. I've tried to be around as often as possible, but I do still need to take care of certain things. You know where to find me!_

_P.S. - I have been watering your plants and giving them encouragement, so please don't worry._

_P.P.S. - They have been growing an awful lot of flowers (and in one particularly memorable case, a pineapple), so I do hope that's normal._

_P.P.P.S- The pineapple was a little too tart. I gave the ficus which created it a mild scolding, mostly to let it know that I was not angry but merely disappointed. I hope I didn't go too far._

_Love,  
Aziraphale_

"Ridiculous angel," Crowley said fondly to himself. He folded the letter and placed it on the bedside table. He'd file it away with all the little love notes Aziraphale left for him later. The current dossier probably weighed about three pounds at that point.

He cleared his throat and shouted, "RIGHT, YOU PATHETIC WASTES OF CHLOROPHYLL! VACATION'S OVER! THE GOOD COP DOESN'T CONTROL THE PRISON ANYMORE! YOU BETTER PUT TOGETHER A BOUQUET LOVELY ENOUGH FOR MY ANGEL BY THE TIME I GET DRESSED, OR I'M MULCHING YOU ALL AND STARTING OVER!"

Quieter, but with an even greater menace, he added, "And you know how quickly I can get dressed."

He held his hand up, ready to snap his fingers. In the next room, he could hear the panicked rustling of countless leaves as his plants rushed to appease their cruel taskmaster. He gave them a few generous seconds before he snapped, willing his clothing onto his body.

Crowley strolled leisurely down the hall toward the door to his flat. He stopped in front of the room where he kept his verdant prisoners, cocked his hips, and held out a hand toward the room. Tentatively, a vine slithered out gripping a large and luxuriant bouquet featuring many of the disparate and, frankly, impossible flowers the plants had grown while luxuriating under Aziraphale's kindness. It released the bouquet into Crowley's waiting hand and then darted back as if expecting the demon to incinerate it.

Crowley examined the bouquet for any impurities or inferior output. The flowers were all perfect, disregarding the fact that it contained plentiful roses though he certainly owned no rose bushes. The overall design of the bouquet was also pretty good for something that had been put together by a bunch of desperate, thumbless houseplants.

"Alright," he said as the plants trembled for his verdict. "You may live for now."

The plants sagged with relief as he slammed the door behind himself.

*****

The sound of tires screeching a block away was the first indication that Aziraphale's demon had finally, finally woken up. "Crowley!" he whispered giddily, his eyes lighting up.

With a few flicks of his wrist, he sent the few humans who had been milling about in his shop to the street. They blinked in confusion, wondering why they couldn't remember what they had just been doing and why some of them were holding their empty hands up as if they had just been reading a book. As they stood around trying to make sense of things, a tall, skinny man carrying an ornate bouquet shoved past them on his way into the bookshop. The jingling of the bell on the door was impossible to hear over his shout of "ANGEL!"

This, interestingly, was enough to break them out of their daze. Even if they had a bit of short-term amnesia, it was better than being the poor bastard who apparently forgot that St. Valentine's Day was the day before.

Back inside the shop, Aziraphale found himself first with an armful of flowers and then, before he could even really appreciate them, an armful of demon. Crowley spun him around, peppering his face with kisses and blathering on about how he hadn't meant to sleep as long as he did. About 20% of the sounds that came out of the demon's mouth were words or word-esque phonemes.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale finally interrupted. He set the slightly crushed flowers aside and then placed his left hand around Crowley's waist and the right on his cheek. He pulled the demon in for a longer, slower kiss in the hope of slowing him down. When the kiss finally ended, he smiled brightly. "Good morning, dear."

"It's half past three," Crowley said, bumping his forehead against Aziraphale's own. 

"Still, morning for you. I'm glad you're awake."

"Ughgk, angel, I really didn't mean to sleep as long as I did. 'Just a couple of days', bah."

"Crowley, it's _fine_. We've gone centuries without even seeing each other, after all."

"Yeah, well, that was before, wasn't it? Before we, y'know… straightened things out between us." 

"Yes, 'straightened out', so to speak."

"I mean now I'd be pretty upset if you fucked off for weeks."

"You didn't exactly 'fuck off'," Aziraphale said fondly, noting how Crowley squeezed him a little tighter and with greater intent after he cursed. He gave the demon another quick kiss. "You were right there. Just not being a particularly dazzling conversation partner."

"Out of curiosity... We'd gotten into a habit of sleeping through most nights together. Did you still come to bed anyway even though I was already there passed out?"

"Mm, not after the first night. It was a bit too 'A Rose for Emily' for my taste. I've just been staying up. Got a lot of reorganizing done in the shop. And it wasn't so bad, considering I had the company of… oh! You haven't met him! I found him a week after you fell asleep, after all."

"Him?" Crowley asked, alarm starting to ring through his head as the angel scurried off into the shop proper. "H-him who? Who… jgcst… wuh-wha-who him?"

"Ah, there's my strapping handsome lad!"

"Handsome lad?! Strapping?!" Crowley repeated a few registers higher than intended. He steeled himself, ready to show whatever human miscreant who had attracted Aziraphale's attention that Hell hath no fury like a demon scorned and that the angel was very much spoken for and very much off limits. 

"Here he is!" Aziraphale said, beaming and returning with an enormous orange cat bundled up in his arms. The creature had to have weighed at least 20 pounds and looked like it could have been ridden by a particularly enterprising gnome as a war steed.

The relief that Crowley felt upon seeing the cat was enough that he nearly melted into the sofa when he sat. "Ohh, thank g-s-... oh good, it's a cat," he muttered. He cleared his throat. "Where the Heaven did you get a cat?"

"Well, a few days after you fell asleep, I went off on a bit of an excursion up north to obtain a new rare book. On my way back, I passed a garden where I encountered this precious little fellow," Aziraphale said, scratching the cat's chin. Its purr was outrageously loud and something like a cross between the snoring of an elderly uncle and a chainsaw. 

"You can't just…" Crowley gestured vaguely. "Obtain a cat like that. He might belong to someone. What if you stole him?"

"He didn't have tags. When I took him to the vet's office for a check-up, they told me he didn't have a chip, either. Though I don't quite know how the vet can tell that he's never eaten any fried potatoes or whatever that has to do with him not having an owner."

"It's a little computery thing they slip in the skin and-" Crowley began, but upon seeing the politely confused expression on Aziraphale's face, he shook his head. "Vet magic. Don't worry about it. So you have a cat now. Bravo. What's its name?"

"Ah, that," Aziraphale says. "Honestly, I haven't been able to decide. I think something literary would be nice considering he lives in a book shop now, but I haven't found anything that really works for him. I was hoping you could help me out with it."

Crowley shrugged. "Ah, pfft, I dunno. Greg."

Aziraphale frowned at him. "Do put a little more thought into it, dear."

"Gregg, then."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"It's not like I know him!" Crowley said. "How'm I supposed to name a cat I don't even know? What are his interests? … Do cats even have interests?"

Choosing to take Crowley's question charitably, Aziraphale smiled. "Well, he's very fond of sleeping on cushions and by windows, biting customers who get within fifteen feet of him, cuddles and snuggles and being a soft little baby, and eating basically any animal even slightly smaller than him."

"Sounds like an utter menace."

"You know," Aziraphale says excitedly, as if he's about to reveal an astonishing fact or some juicy gossip, "when I first found him, he was eating a garden snake."

Crowley jolted, drawing his legs up from the ground as if leaving them there would just be inviting the cat to an afternoon snack. "And you brought it back here?! Did you forget that I'M a sssnake?!"

"Not very often, you aren't!" Aziraphale replied. "Quite rarely, in fact. Besides, when you are, you are much, much bigger than him-"

"Not by all that much, the great orange chunker."

"-so if ANYTHING, he should be the one worried about you!"

"Oh for... I'm not going to eat your cat, angel!"

"Well," Aziraphale said, some of the fight draining out of him. He sniffed imperiously. "Good. He's been a very wonderful and delightsome boy, and... and excellent company while I was alo… while you were asleep."

That, in turn, disarmed Crowley. He sighed heavily. "Look… it's obvious that you love the monster. And I'm not _so_ petty as to give you an ultimatum between him and me, mostly because I have no intention to give you up for the rest of eternity."

The watery, loving look that Aziraphale gave him just bolstered him further.

"So… I'll try, Aziraphale. I'll give this cat thing a fair shake. Not, I mean, not literally or anything. No cat throttling here. Unless he really fucks up."

"Oh, _thank you!_ " Aziraphale said, ignoring the demon's rambling. He swooped down to kiss Crowley on the cheek and set the cat down by his feet. "Here, so the two of you can start to get better acquainted!"

The cat sniffed warily at Crowley's snakeskin shoes. He gave a low, warbling growl, followed by a hiss. Crowley hissed back.

*****

A week had passed since Crowley had woken up to his new cat-infested life. There was an uneasy truce between himself and the animal, both seeming to agree to tolerate the other if it meant pleasing Aziraphale.

As far as the angel himself was concerned, the cat had lacked a proper name for entirely too long. As the creature sat by one of the windows grooming himself, Aziraphale sat Crowley down for a good old-fashioned cat-naming brainstorm. Meanwhile, miles away, ex-Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell felt a great disturbance, as if a cat was about to get a funny name. It sent shivers down his spine. 

"Cheshire."

"Behemoth."

"The Amazing Maurice."

"Garfield."

"Aslan."

"Garfield II: Garf Harder."

"Honestly, Crowley, if you aren't going to take this seriously, we may as well keep calling him The Cat."

"I was serious about Behemoth!"

"Behemoth is a black cat," Aziraphale said, miracling _The Master and Margarita_ from one of his shelves and into his hand. He tapped the drawing on the cover to illustrate his point. "Wholly inappropriate for our lovely ginger boy."

"That beast is not 'our' anything," Crowley sneered, feeling slightly peevish at no longer being the only 'lovely ginger boy' in Aziraphale's life, not that he'd ever dare admit it. "Thought you were going to say it'd be inappropriate since Behemoth is in league with the Devil."

"Dear, that would be dreadfully hypocritical of me, considering I'm much more than 'in league' with a demon," Aziraphale said before cupping his chin in his hand and staring at the cat with overly serious concentration.

It really was an adorable expression, Crowley thought. It was so easy to forget that his angel had once been one of the most important Archangels in Heaven, misplaced because of a truly spectacular misunderstanding and now unwilling to reveal himself to his former brethren. That he had chosen his comparatively simple life full of his own pleasures, be it books or food or Crowley's love.

Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Hey," he said, grinning. Aziraphale gave him a quizzical expression. "Y'know what would be funny?"

A few hours later, Aziraphale beamed down at the cat as he slipped a new collar around his chubby neck. Attached to the collar was a metal tag in the shape of an angel's wing. The name on that tag read RAPHAEL.


	2. Chapter 2

Just after midsummer, Raphael-the-Cat vanished.

For the first couple of days, Aziraphale wasn't alarmed. Raphael had gone on roaming adventures for days at a time before, but he always turned back up within the week. As the days went by without the cat, dread had started to seep in.

He made some truly incompetent-looking fliers that Crowley helped post up around the city. They sat on a bench in the park after their latest round of flier distribution with Crowley's arm around Aziraphale's shoulders in comfort.

"I'm just afraid he's hurt or… or worse," Aziraphale fretted, shaking his head against Crowley's shoulder.

"Ah, buck up, angel. We'll find that wretched goblin of a cat. Hey, maybe he finally caught and ate one of the ducks and now he's too full to move!"

"Oh, I do hope so… he's been working so hard on that goal."

Just as the words left Aziraphale's lips, the air went alarmingly still. Looking around, they saw that all of the hustle and bustle in the park was frozen in time. A jogging woman hung suspended in the air between steps. A man reading a newspaper on a nearby bench was frozen mid-sneeze. A grubby toddler had a worm halfway to his mouth while his mother chatted with a friend. 

"Oh, shit," the angel and demon muttered together.

Three figures materialized in front of them, all wearing what appeared to be biohazard containment suits that glowed with an aura of holiness. Glaring at them through the suits' clear visors were Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon.

As much as they would have loved to shout "Oh, shit!" again upon seeing the angels, Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a knowing look. As far as Heaven knew, Aziraphale was some kind of hellfire-breathing monster who somehow hadn't Fallen and who was supported by an equally freakish holy water-proof demon. They had an image to maintain.

So, they clasped their hands together and glowered right back at the three angels before them. "I thought we had made it rather clear that we do not appreciate any further meddling in our affairs," Aziraphale said.

"What he means is: what do you dolts want?" Crowley sneered.

"We," Gabriel said through gritted teeth, "would like to request that Aziraphale come upstairs for a little chat."

"Going to try roasting him again?"

"These outfits are for our own protection," Uriel said. "In case he gets any ideas."

"Oh, have you tested them out? If not, I'd be happy to help you with that," Aziraphale bluffed merrily. With his free hand, he pounded at his chest like someone trying to fight down very literal heartburn. "Let's see if I can conjure the stuff now and not just breathe it out."

The angels took several alarmed steps back, hands up in capitulation. 

"Look," Gabriel said. "This is important. We don't want to deal with you two any more than you want to deal with us. If we had any other option, we would take it. As soon as the matter is resolved, we'll dump you back at your stupid little book hole and you can continue living in sin."

Aziraphale considered him for a moment. "Hm. What's the magic word?"

Gabriel groaned in a frustration borne from the very deepest recesses of his mighty, eternal soul. " _Please,_ " he ground out, as if the word pained him physically.

"Fine. One hour," Aziraphale said as he stood. "Any longer than that and I'll… I'll breathe more fire than all the dragons that didn't make the cut to get onto the Ark due to the whole wooden boat thing."

"I'm coming too," Crowley said, springing to his feet. "Just to make sure these idiots stay on their best behavior."

"Absolutely not," Sandalphon said. "One of you is more than enough trouble as is."

"Aw, then too bad. It's a no from us. Good luck solving whatever inane problem you have. Heavenly ant infestation probably. C'mon, Aziraphale-"

"It's fine, my dear," Aziraphale said quietly, reaching up to rub his thumb across Crowley's cheek. "They're telling the truth. They're too afraid to mess with us, and I can sense that there really is something I have to address upstairs. Call it a hunch."

Crowley opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Aziraphale's soft smile gave him pause. "If you're sure."

"I am. I'll be back before you even have time to miss me."

Crowley scoffed, leaning in to give Aziraphale one more kiss before they parted. "Doubt that."

"Ugh, so corny," Gabriel said, wincing. "Gross."

And with that, Aziraphale and the other angels were gone. Time started moving again. The jogging woman landed unsteadily but kept trotting along. The man with the newspaper sneezed on an unflattering picture of the prime minister. The toddler ate that blessed worm.

Crowley rushed back to the book shop. He had a lot of very cool and stylish anxious pacing to do, after all.

*****

The only thing that had changed since Aziraphale had last been in Heaven was the lack of angels lining up and preparing for war. Everything was as pristine and, ironically, soulless as ever. But soon Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon rushed him through Heaven's gleaming corridors and into a place he had not been in a very, very long time: the shared office for the Archangels 

Inside, a very conspicuous red velvet curtain cut off a portion of the room. In other circumstances, such a curtain could be a very welcome sight. It could lead to anticipation before a wonderful play. It could obscure a new piece at an art gallery. It could keep the sun out of the bedroom of a vampire with very tacky taste. But here, not just in Heaven but in the Archangel's main office, it was officially ominous. 

"Right. So. Here's the thing," Gabriel said, clapping his hands together. The sound was muffled due to the hellfire protective gear. "What I'm about to tell you next… or, more accurately, the _way_ I'm going to tell you it… is not because you are in any way deserving of the knowledge. It's regulations. You know how it is."

Aziraphale stared at him. 

Gabriel cleared his throat and threw his arms out wide. "Rejoice, Angel of the LORD Aziraphale, for-"

"This isn't an Annunciation, is it?" Aziraphale interrupted nervously, suddenly very worried about the particular brand of activities he and Crowley had gotten up to in the back of the Bentley a few nights previously. He hadn't accidentally conjured up _all_ of the necessary equipment required for that sort of thing, had he? Then again, being an angel, did the type of equipment even matter at all in the grand scheme of the Ineffable Plan?

Gabriel pulled a face as if he had bitten into an especially sour lemon. "No, the Almighty has not seen fit to bless your unholy union with rotten fruit."

"Oh, thank goodness," Aziraphale breathed with relief. A moment later, once the relief abated, he frowned in offense at the very rude terminology used for his and Crowley's strictly hypothetical children. "Wait, rotten? Now see here-"

Gabriel pointedly ignored him and resumed his grand announcement. "Rejoice, Angel of the LORD Aziraphale, for the Archangel Raphael has been found!"

"Oh?" Aziraphale asked, perhaps a bit shriller and more hysterical than he had intended. The last thing he needed was for his oldest ruse to be found out, especially now that he had so many other ruses stacked up.

"Yes. And here he is. Sandalphon, if you would."

Sandalphon pulled a cord which swept aside the velvet curtain to reveal, in all of his rotund feline glory, the missing cat asleep on a huge, plush cushion.

"Raphael!" Aziraphale breathed, far too swept up in the joy of seeing his cat again to contain himself. Then, realizing that this meant Heaven thought a perfectly normal, mortal cat was the Archangel Raphael, he had to take in a very deep breath and pretend he was not trying to stifle a massive fit of laughter.

"It's really him," Aziraphale said, hoping that his choked voice could be mistaken for awe. "I-I'd only heard stories about Raphael's grace and beauty. His majesty is beyond compare."

"We found him on Earth after tracking down a strange echo of angelic energy," Uriel said. "His disguise is extremely convincing, but his holiness cannot be fully hidden. Observe: his name written on a tablet of silver in the shape of a wing." 

"It jingles with sacred intent," Sandalphon intoned wisely. "Like church bells. And one of the tablets says that he has cured the Earthly affliction of rabies."

"The question, Aziraphale, the big question we now have," Gabriel said, "is why the back of that tablet says 'If found, please return to A.Z. Fell & Co.'"

"Well. I certainly can't speak for an Archangel as highly ranked as Raphael," Aziraphale said with more than a little irony. "But if I were to guess, I'd say it's part of Her Ineffable Plan."

"That's what we thought you'd say," Gabriel said. "Ineffable this, ineffable that. That's why we had Metatron seek out the Almighty's own opinion."

As if on cue (which, in retrospect, Aziraphale realized there was probably no 'as if' about it), Metatron materialized beside Gabriel. 

"We'll see if the two sides match up," Gabriel said, smiling smugly. Even in a ludicrous outfit, Gabriel could really pull off smug.

Metatron, on the other hand, had none of the sanctimonious importance that had been on grand display when Aziraphale had tried desperately to reach out and reason with his side back while the failed Apocalypse was in full swing. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "YOU AREN'T GOING TO LIKE IT," the voice of God whispered to Gabriel. 'Whispered' being a comparative word, if course.

Woken by the booming voice, the cat slit open one eye. Upon seeing Aziraphale, his ears perked up immediately, and he leaped from the cushion. He waddled merrily over to Aziraphale, letting out a pleasant warbling with each step.

As he watched the cat move toward Aziraphale, Metatron continued, "THE FOLLOWING IS A VERBATIM MESSAGE FROM THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY - _MY VERDICT FOR THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL IS THUS: LEAVE HIM ALONE. HIS IS A LOVE THAT THE REST OF YOU CAN NEVER DARE TO COMPREHEND, AND IT WILL BE VITAL FOR THE DAYS TO COME. WHAT I HAVE JOINED TOGETHER LET NO ANGEL SEPARATE. NOW SCRAM._ SO ENDS HER STATEMENT."

All eyes were now on the cat as he rubbed against Aziraphale's legs. Well, all except Aziraphale himself, who gazed up with awe in his expression. In so many words, God had put Her seal of approval on his relationship with Crowley, even if he was the only angel present who got the correct message. 

"Thank you," he mouthed, close to tears.

"Well!" Gabriel exclaimed, his face rapid-cycling through expressions as he tried desperately to spin this as a win in his head. He was failing spectacularly. "Well."

"Well, your demon boyfriend will certainly be disappointed," Uriel said. Gabriel pointed at her enthusiastically in agreement.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Aziraphale said. 

"For whatever reason, Raphael has clearly chosen you as a partner, and the Almighty has said that She will not allow anyone to interfere with that. Too bad for the demonic third wheel."

"He's a ca-" Aziraphale started to protest, just barely catching himself. "He's a far higher ranking angel than me and anything other than a mentor relationship would be inappropriate. Please, Raphael, speak up if you agree."

Raphael, who had learned that the word 'speak' meant he got a treat if he cooperated, let out an unflattering bleat of a meow.

"See?" Aziraphale said. "All Agape, no Eros. He has taken me under his wing as a charity case. I am really quite awful at being an angel, after all."

"At least we can all agree on something," Sandalphon said wryly. Gabriel pointed at him in agreement, though all of his enthusiasm was gone.

Aziraphale bent down and picked up the hefty cat. "Now, I believe we have a book shop to be getting to."

*****

When Aziraphale reappeared in the book shop, something about the immediate celestial transportation made Raphael sneeze five times in a row. "Ah," the angel said to the cat. "Poor dear. Are you okay?"

"Yes, definitely, not worried at all! Cool as a cucumber, me," Crowley said, checking the floor to see if there was any evidence that he had been pacing frantically for the better part of an hour. Finding none, he approached the angel. "Where the Heaven did you find the cat?"

"Precisely there," Aziraphale said, setting Raphael down.

"They didn't… try anything, did they?"

"No, it was all patently ridiculous. I'll tell you about it, but er. You might want to sit down for it."

Crowley went pale and, instead of sitting down as suggested, grabbed the angel by his shoulders. "They've recalled you," he said, his voice trembling. "Th-they can't, I won't let them-"

"No, dear," Aziraphale said calmly, reaching to gently push Crowley down to sit on the sofa.

He could see the gears turning in Crowley's head as the demon tried to come up with what Heaven could have possibly wanted with its wayward angel. "Oh, _fuck_ ," he gasped, tangling his hands in his hair. "It was an Annunciation, wasn't it?! Utterly botched godfathering is one thing, but regular fathering is quite another! We are much too young to be parents!"

"No, not that either. Though I was quite worried about that myself, believe you me."

Crowley wilted into the sofa, boneless in his relief. "Then what was it, angel?"

Aziraphale took in a deep breath and looked down at the cat idly licking himself at his feet. "Well… they think he's me."

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, turning his gaze first from the angel, then to the cat, and back again. "You are really, really going to need to elaborate on that."

"Because of his name tag and the fact that some of my energy has rubbed off on him, they think he is the long-lost Archangel Raphael."

Perhaps it was a coincidence that three car alarms went off on the block at the same time. Or, perhaps, Crowley's laughter was just that loud.

Once things had settled down, Aziraphale sat with Raphael on his lap, idly stroking the cat behind his ears. 

"Loathe as I am to admit it, we really should have just named him Garfield II: Garf Harder," Aziraphale said. "It would have saved us all a lot of trouble."

"And miss out on the Heavenly host thinking that a fat, surly cat is their long-lost Archangel?" Crowley asked, slouched half off the sofa and still occasionally tittering. "Nah. I wouldn't trade that for anything. Besides, he responds to it, which is more than you can say about most cat names. Isn't that right, Raphael?"

The cat's ears perked up. He meowed and hopped off of Aziraphale's lap, trotting over to butt his head against Crowley's elbow.

"Oh, you really do like each other!" Aziraphale exclaimed, utterly delighted.

"Yeah, the damned animal has kind of grown on me. Like a patch of toxic mold festering under a sink," Crowley said, scratching Raphael under his chin. The cat let out a purr that sounded like a tree going through a wood chipper. "I think it's because we have a few things in common. Naps. Lying around in beams of sunlight. Both big fans of that. And we both love the same daft ex-Archangel."

Aziraphale gave him a lovestruck smile, but unfortunately it faded quickly as realization flickered into the angel's eyes. "Still, it's going to be a bit of a… bit of a situation when he dies. It'll be hard to explain why an Archangel died of old age."

"Well…" Crowley said, drawing out the word. "Who says he has to?"

Aziraphale frowns slightly in confusion before his eyes light up with equal parts hope and alarm. "My dear, you can't possibly be suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

"Why not?"

"It's against the natural order of things!"

"Oh, since when has that stopped us? Last I checked a demon and an angel going native and loving each other is against the natural order. If anything, it is our sacred and profane duty respectively to flip off the natural order when it decides to get too full of itself."

"Well, there are certainly rules against making a human being immortal… but it doesn't say anything about cats…"

"Exactly!" Crowley said. "We just keep magically adding years and health to Raphael's life and if there's a Death for cats, like a-a-a-"

"A Grim Pouncer?"

"If there's a Grim Pouncer, we'll just put out some catnip and yarn balls and distract it. Figure it out as we go."

"Oh, _Crowley,_ " Aziraphale breathed as if the demon had just regaled him with pages of love sonnets. He pulled the demon back up onto the sofa and moved in for a long kiss.

Perhaps later on he'd remember to tell his demon that he genuinely had absolutely no idea if God thought that they were already married or if She had united them in holy matrimony while he had been up in Heaven dealing with the universe's stupidest case of mistaken identity. If it was the latter, they'd definitely need to have a re-do later.


End file.
